Viral
by xenastar18
Summary: Serious and/or dark Hetalia. An experiment that Cuba performed went wrong and now the virus that he created is out killing all of the world's people. The countries have to work together to save the world. Rated M for language and USUK smut later.
1. Chapter 1

Panic gripped the world. A completely new and unheard of disease-so new that it had not even been named-was sweeping across the world like wildfire. People in all countries were dying, and no one knew what to do about it. Hospitals overflowed with mortally ill people, who were doomed to die because no one-not even the world's top medical experts-seemed to know what was happening.

The World Conference was, for the first time almost since the beginning of time, completely silent. Britain and France were not trying to strangle each other. America was not obnoxiously filling in the other nations on his brilliant plans which all involved him being the hero. Russia was not torturing Lithuania. Italy was not loudly inquiring as to when they would eat. And Germany was not trying to restore order.

All of the nations sat quietly in their seats around the large table. The silence in the room grew to be so great that America thought it might crush him. He looked to his left, were England sat with his face in his hands, and to his right, where Japan sat pointedly and studiously not looking at anybody. When it became clear to America that no one else was going to speak, he jumped up, knocking over his chair, and slammed his fist to the table. His seat crashed to the marble floor, and the noise reverberated around the room, causing many of the nations to jump at the sudden echo.

"Well?" shouted America. "What the hell are we going to _do_ about this?"

Still, everyone remained silent. America roared in frustration.

"Listen to me!" he shouted. "People-_our people_-are dying because of this! _We must think of something!"_

Germany rose to his feet.

"America is right," he said. "Ve have to do something." The German suddenly turned around and moved to the chalkboard.

"Let's start be reviewing the problem. Vhat exactly are we dealing vith, here?"

"That's the problem," said England through clenched teeth. "No one knows, do they? Just some biochemical warfare experiment that somehow was brought to the outside world." His sparkling green eyes were dark with seriousness. The expression was becoming on him, America thought.

"Show of hands," commanded Germany. "Who was experimenting with a virus or disease of some sort prior to this pandemic?"

Nearly every country in the room raised their hands, save for Switzerland and Lichtenstein. Germany's eyebrow twitched.

"All right. Who was using a virus that had similar side affects or intentions to the one that is currently killing people all over the world?"

All of the hands in the room went down except for Cuba. Several of the countries groaned and dropped their heads to the table in front of them, or put their face into their hands, or shot Cuba venomous looks. Northern Italy began to cry, but not in his usual open, hysterical way. Instead, silent tears rolled down his cheeks and his small shoulders began to tremble. His curl drooped as it did when he was unbearably sad. The sight of the happy-go-lucky Italian reduced to such pain made America want to break down and weep himself.

"And how did the virus come to escape your laboratories, Cuba?" asked Russia dangerously.

"There was an...accident," said Cuba, avoiding eye contact with all the other nations. "In my laboratory. The virus that we were working on escaped. It was airborne, and..." here he stopped to take a breath. "Before you all crush me with questions: It is indeed a virus, and it has a similar affect on the human body to cancer. As nations, we are all immune to it, but the humans are not. We had developed the thing as a means for warfare, but recognized it as dangerous and were seeking to discover the antidote at the time. No, we have not succeeded as of yet."

For a minute, the room was completely silent. Then, everyone began to shout all at once.

"Cuba, you fucking _moron!"_

"Why the hell didn't you tell us about this sooner?"

"Oh God, what are you going to do?"

"It'll cause the apocalypse!"

"Everyone's going to _die!"_

This went on for some time until Germany managed to calm everybody down. Cuba took the abuse surprisingly well, he wasn't incited at all and didn't shout back at anybody. America himself refrained from shouting, and instead sat seething at the idiocy of his long-time enemy. _God damn it, what are we going to do?_

"Please!" called a high, innocent voice. "Everybody please just try and work together! We have to do something!"

Everyone looked over to see Lichtenstein, now staring furiously into her lap, a gentle pink blush coloring her cheeks. Her brother might have, under different circumstances, reprimanded her, but this time Switzerland did nothing.

"Lichtenstein is right," intoned Japan softly. "Isn't it obvious what we have to do? We must gather all of the most scientifically advanced countries to work together to develop the antidote." He glanced around at all of the other countries.

"Which of you has a large research and laboratory facility at their house, with a good amount of equipment at your disposal?"

"I do," said America, thinking of his laboratory with pride and affection.

"Then," said Japan, "Can we all agree that the most scientifically advanced countries are those included in the G8 and possibly China, as well?"

There was a general nod of agreement.

"We should bring Cuba, too," suggested Germany. He turned to America.

"Have your home ready for us within three day's time," he said grimly. "We are going to go there and stay there and not rest until we have a cure for this disease."

America nodded his consent.


	2. Chapter 2

"When are they coming, again?" asked Canada. His twin brother looked up from the book he was poring over.

"They're all supposed to come sometime today," said America vaguely before returning to his reading. Canada sighed. He, like the rest of the countries, was under extreme stress and pressure. Due to the fact that a good portion of his population was either ill or dying, Canada himself was much weaker and sicklier than he normally would have been. The same was happening to the rest of them.

Every time he opened his mind and thought or felt of the suffering of his people, Canada was overcome with an extreme and terrible anguish that threatened to floor him. This happened to him now, and, unwilling to show his brother weakness, quickly stood from the table.

"I'm going to get some coffee," he choked, and did his best to exit the room with poise. America made a noncommittal noise, still absorbed by his reading. When he stumbled into the kitchen, Canada fell to his knees, clutching his head in his hands. He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the flow of hot, salty tears that were escaping from under his eyelids. He choked back a sob as he felt the overwhelming pain that the citizens of Canada were going through.

After a minute, it passed. Canada remained on his knees, shaking, for a few seconds, before rising to his feet and going to retrieve the coffee that had been his excuse for leaving.

"Took you long enough," observed America upon his return.

"Yeah, well."

The morning passed away in a similar way, with America studying and Canada attempting to do the same, but occasionally succumbing to fits of grief. If similar fits happened to America, he did not show it. _Typical of him,_ thought Canada bitterly. _He has no sympathy with his people. Not like me._

A little into the afternoon, France arrived. America looked up reluctantly from his reading and went to open the door for his fellow nation. The superpower was irritable, fighting to keep down the swirling emotions that were not his own, but those of the country that he represented. Normally he didn't have any trouble sticking to his own personal thoughts, but in a time of such trouble and upheaval, it was getting more difficult.

America was not ignorant. He knew that his brother had already succumbed to the pain and grief a few times, but had chosen not to comment on it. He knew that it would happen to all of them eventually, he just didn't want it to happen to him unless it had to.

France entered America's house quietly, murmuring only a subdued hello and asking which bedroom he would be using this time. He didn't even flirtatiously inquire as to whom he would be sharing a bed with. The astounding change in the Frenchman was more than a little unnerving to America.

Soon thereafter, Italy and Germany arrived. Neither of them said a word. Both of them walked in with their eyes cast towards the ground, their mouths set in grim lines. A few hairs were hanging down from Germany's normally perfectly slicked-back hairstyle, and Italy's perpetually smiling face was sad and pale. However, when Japan and Russia arrived, little or no change was visibly noticeable in them. The short Japanese man was as stoic and antisocial as ever, and Russia was still wearing his infuriating, unshakable grin. When Cuba came, he said nothing at all, and no one acknowledged his presence. It would be a long time until the Hispanic nation's reputation was rectified.

Finally, Britain arrived. His blonde hair was disheveled as usual, and his thick eyebrows were drawn together in a pensive expression. The unforgettable green of his eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun. America couldn't help but stare at England's beautiful eyes. That shade of green was just so wonderful that took his breath away.

America shook himself. _Stop it,_ he told himself. _Now is not the time._

"Hello, America."

"Hello."

They stood together in the doorway for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, before Britain broke the eye contact and moved away, leaving the younger nation to stare after him as he moved gracefully down the hallway.

The nations wasted no time in beginning their research and experiments. The next morning they headed straight to America's laboratory. Cuba filled them in a little more on the particulars of the virus. They had taken the human immunodeficiency virus and attempted to alter it so that it would not target white blood cells but platelets (a structure that aided greatly in blood clotting). The idea was that during warfare, the Cubans could infect their enemies with it in order to slow or hinder their blood-clotting process so that they would be easier to defeat. The experiment had gone horribly wrong, instead producing a new virus that targeted all body cells and was able to target, exploit, and kill them nearly five times as fast as a regular virus would be able to.

Needless to say, the situation was grave indeed.

The nations discussed nearly all day, but none of them could come up with a way to fight the virus. The discussion was eerily calm, but inside, all of them were fighting to control the panic that threatened to overtake them almost constantly. By the end of the day, America was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to escape to his bedroom and sleep.

Canada walked down the hallway of his brother's house on shaking legs, fighting to keep control for just a few more seconds before he could escape into the comfort of solitude. _Just a few more steps,_ he told himself._ Then you'll be all alo—_

"Matvey."

Canada whirled around, gasping, and nearly knocked over an expensive-looking decorative vase. Russia stood there, towering over the Canadian, his violet eyes sparkling with amusement.

"What the _hell,_ Russia!"

"What?" asked the other nation innocently.

"You can't just—you can't—I mean…"

"Shhh," said Russia, suddenly drawing close to Canada and hooking his arm around the other man's waist. "Matvey, you have nothing to be afraid of."

"Don't call me that, damn it!" shouted Canada, shoving the Russian's gloved hands off of him. "Listen, bastard, now is _not _the time to try and go rekindling fires that died out a long time ago. So leave me _alone_."

Without another word, Canada hurried to his room and slammed the door behind him, leaving Russia blinking in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

That night, Alfred dreamed. First, he dreamed that he and all of his fellow nations caught Cuba's virus before they could find the cure, and since they perished, the entire world perished. Then, he was walking through a beautiful green field, underneath a pure azure sky, peppered here and there with pure white clouds. America recognized it as Saskatchewan, a province from his brother's country. He had only been there once, and despite his reluctance to admit it to Matthew, Alfred had loved it.

As he kept walking, the vibrant colors of the field began to fade, being replaced by various shades of gray, black, and white. As the colors faded, a deep sense of hopelessness and despair planted its poisonous roots in its mind and grew like a climbing, strangling plant within his head. Soon, he encountered a group of people. From a distance, they seemed normal, but as Alfred got closer, he saw that their skin was white as snow, all signs of flesh and blood drained from their countenances. They also completely lacked noses and mouths. Their eyes were not eyes at all, but unnaturally large, gaping holes that poured black mist. At first he could only see a few, but more of them poured out of the mist until Alfred could see that there were thousands. He cried out and desperately tried to run away, but found that he had no control over his limbs as his legs walked him ever closer. Finally, he was allowed to stop. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at the apparitions with wide eyes. They silently surrounded him, and then just stood, gaping at him with their strange eye-holes.

"Who are you?" he cried. "Where am I?" For a minute they were silent, and then a strange whispering hiss seemed to rise from all of them.

"This is Canada," they said, "and we are its people."

Alfred recoiled in horror.

"Fuck! What the—how—it can't be! W-where's Matt?"

They just stared at him blankly.

He screamed louder. "_Where is my brother?"_

Still they said nothing. After a few more seconds of silence, they began to move again, closing their circle, closing Alfred in. Alfred began to scream, trying desperately to get away, but still unable to move his feet.

"Help me!" he shrieked. "_Help me, oh god please, don't let them touch me—"_ But it was useless, they were drawing closer, and no one was there to here him. Everyone was dead. He was alone.

Just as one of the beings was about to touch him, Alfred woke up mid-yell, drenched and sweat and tangled in the sheets. For a minute, he wasn't aware of anything. Where was he? What had happened?

Then he brushed his disheveled bangs out of his eyes, and with trembling fingers, found and put on his glasses. He saw that he was in his own room, safe. At least for now. He fell back onto his pillows, panting, nearly crying in relief. Then the sound of pounding feet came from the hallway, and Germany burst into the room.

"Mein gott, America, vhat the hell is _happening?"_

He was closely followed by Italy, as well as England and Canada. They all stared at him worriedly. America looked away in shame, a deep blush coloring his cheeks.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," he said through clenched teeth. "Just a…dream."

"Really?" asked Italy tactlessly. "Because you were really screaming—"

"Italy, I'm _fine,"_ insisted America. After a few seconds, they slowly began to leave, trickling away like lost puppies until only Britain was left. He wouldn't stop staring at Alfred, studying him intensely. His green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. America blushed even deeper, uncomfortable under the Brit's intense gaze.

In a fluid motion, England moved across the room and sat next to America on his bed. America recoiled slightly, beginning to perspire.

"What did you dream about?"

America looked away. "I don't want to talk about it."

England moved again, and now he was straddling America's legs. America shrank from the sudden contact. _No, we can't not now…_thought America, beginning to grow panicky. Shoving England off of him, he jumped up out of bed.

"I'm going to get some water," he said, to no one in particular, and hastily exited the room. Undeterred, England got up and followed him. America hurried down the hallway, not bothering to quiet his footsteps. He slammed open the door to the kitchen and ran for the cupboard of glasses as if his life depended on it. He had barely made it before he was suddenly besieged by a flood of emotions and feelings that were not his own. He gasped and sank to his knees under the crushing weight of the despair of the people in his country. Under their influence, all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. Gasping and trembling, he almost gave into them, when suddenly two points of bright green appeared in his vision, quickly followed by a face and two strong hands gripping his shoulders.

"Alfred. Alfred!"

Alfred could do nothing, only let silent tears run down his cheeks as his whole body was wracked with chills and tremors. Arthur sat next to him, with his arms around Alfred, simply being with him as the American waited for it to pass.

Finally, it stopped. Alfred swiped a hand over his eyes.

"I feel like shit."

"We all do."

"Then why aren't _you_ crying like a fucking kid?"

Arthur said nothing, but his eyes expressed such a deep and profound sadness that Alfred wanted to cry again. For a minute, it seemed like Arthur was going to let his emotions boil over. But then he blinked, and his eyes were green enigmas once again.

"Alfred, do you want me to distract you?" asked Arthur huskily, running his fingers up Alfred's neck and bringing his lips a mere half inch away from his. Alfred's hear began to beat faster, and he blushed deeply.

"Arthur, we shouldn't, not now—" but Arthur smothered him with a kiss.

"If not now, when?" he breathed in Alfred's ear, his voice low and seductive. No longer able to resist, Alfred pressed his lips back to Arthur's. Arthur teased his tongue as they kissed, causing the hair on the back of Alfred's neck to prickle, only to pull away and jump up, leaving the other man panting. Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand and dragged him into the living room, shoving him onto the couch. He then resumed kissing him, first on his lips and then on his neck. He began to lick and bite a little, causing America to whimper a little in pleasure.

"Mm, A-Arthur…!" stammered Alfred, as the Brit began to play with the buttons of his shirt.

"Mm?" he replied, rubbing up the other nation's nipples, causing them to grow hard and erect.

"W-we can't have sex here…"

"Why ever not, darling?" whispered Arthur, undoing the last few buttons of his shirt.

"My brother was sitting here...like, three hours ago…"

Arthur began to chuckle.

"I…I'm serious…!"

"Fine, prima donna," snickered Arthur, and in one motion, stood up and swept Alfred up in his arms and began to carry him up the stairs.

"Is this really necessary?" growled America.

"Of course."

"This isn't fair. I'm taller than you."

"So?"

Alfred decided to refrain from replying.

When they arrived in Alfred's bedroom, Arthur wasted no time in dropping Alfred onto the bed and leaping down on top of him, licking his lips in desire. They resumed taking each other's clothes off. Arthur seemed determined to kiss every inch of Alfred's head and shoulders. With trembling fingers, Alfred began to slide off Arthur's pants, even as the Brit did the same to him. Their boxers quickly followed, and Alfred moaned in desire at the sight of Arthur's perfectly erect cock.

Grinning deviously, Arthur began to trace painful circles around the American's cock, causing him to buck his hips and grunt in bliss. When he was done with that, Arthur adjusted he and America's positions so they were aligned. America sat hunched over, trembling and sweating, waiting for Arthur.

"Are you ready?" breathed England.

"Fuck yes," said Alfred through clenched teeth.

"Beg for it, bitch."

"Oh God Arthur, please!"

Grunting in satisfaction, England shoved himself into America's entrance. America threw his head back and yelled out loud in pleasure. England made similar noises. They knew that the others could probably hear it, but in the passion of the moment, they didn't care.

"Augh, Arthur….h-harder…"

Arthur complied, causing Alfred to arch his back in passion, sweat pouring off of his body. Eventually, Alfred couldn't hold it in any longer and came, spilling all over his sheets. Withdrawing his cock, Arthur grunted and came soon thereafter. For a minute they sat on the bed, panting, in their own cum. Then, Arthur climbed down under the sheets, and Alfred followed. The American fell asleep with his head resting on the Brit's shoulder.


End file.
